Wakandan One-shots
by Vaneria Potter
Summary: Black Panther left me with ALL the fanfic ideas, but none that I felt up to turning into a full-length story. So, a series of one-shots, mostly around the main characters.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Not mine, don't own, don't sue_

 _Summary: Post-movie, T'Challa reflects._

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 _A/N: *points at self* Not African-American, not minority, not a POC. I've done my best to avoid any stereotyping or racial/cultural insensitivity, so if I slip up, please let me know._

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 **Reflection**

T'Challa, King by birthright and now again by conquest, gazed out over Wakanda, watching his home and his people and yet seeing none of it.

In theory, being a king was simple: do the right thing by your people and do not let your personal desires overcome your duty.

In practice, it was not so simple. To weigh up centuries of isolation and tradition against the need to be part of a rapidly-changing world, when so much was uncertain, was no easy task.

But Certainty was also a double-edged sword, as the recent fiasco with his cousin and W'Kabi had proven. His father had been certain that N'Jadaka was to 'Westernised' to bring back to Wakanda, that it was better to leave an orphaned boy alone in the world than to bring him home. T'Chaka had been wrong. Unwilling to speak of the possible rogue Wakandan warrior until he had answers to give his best friend, W'Kabi had felt betrayed and been left open to Erik's manipulation.

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Many would think it more than understandable for T'Challa to think of his cousin with rage, but the Black Panther was more inclined to grief. Anger was there, yes, but more anger at the circumstances that had shaped Prince N'Jadaka into Erik Killmonger, teaching him to follow an ideal at all costs, to prize death over compromise and compassion, to destroy an entire culture, as long as it served his ends.

In the end, Erik - T'Challa would call his cousin by the name he chose and earned - had become the very thing he wanted to destroy. He disregarded and suppressed a culture he saw as wrong, instead of embracing their differences. He desired not peace and understanding, but to destroy and destabilise in the drive for revenge. He tried to strip Wakanda of their resources for his own gain, even as he decried those who had done so to the rest of Africa. To arm insugencies all over the world, in a direct copy of the failed policy that had caused so much suffering in the very third-world countries that he claimed to want to protect.

Yet, despite his methods, Erik had not been entirely wrong. Previous Black Panthers had been concerned first about their own people, unwilling to draw attention that would make the colonisers think of Wakanda as their next target, and reluctant to choose sides when the colonisers withdrew, leaving a power vacuum that inevitably resulted in the newly-freed countries tearing themselves apart in civil war. Wakanda should have done more, even if it was only to offer aid to refugees, or annonymously share the technology to turn land rendered barren by drought and disease back into thriving agriculture.

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T'Challa would not become the power that invaded in the name of protection, claiming that only he could bring peace to those who constantly fought among themselves. Nor could he, as a good man or a good king, continue to support isolation. There must be a balance, but only a fool made wide-spread decisions and expected only a good outcome. A good king could not be a fool.

The War Dogs who followed N'Jadaka's orders to rain terror upon the world were recalled, to assess them before they became as radicalised as N'Jobu. Others had been sent out as spies, to keep an eye on the countries most likely to attempt to exploit Wakanda's willingness to re-join the wider world. The warriors who guarded Wakanda's borders had been re-inforced, as had those who patrolled their airspace. The Dora Milaje had deployed from guarding only the royal family, to also protecting key government figures. The Tribal Chiefs had turned their eyes to their own borders, also.

Wakanda was prepared to share theri wealth with those who needed it, and they were prepared for those who might have a different, historically proven and condemned, definition of 'Need'.

.

.

.

.

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 _A/N: I saw Black Panther the day it opened, and left the cinema with so many fanfic ideas that it isn't even funny anymore. I hope you enjoyed the first of many one-shots._

 _Constructive criticism, especially in the form of "this is stereotypical/racist" is greatly appreciated._

 _Thanks,_

 _Nat_


	2. Unspoken

Disclaimer: I do not own Black Panther, nor any of the associated characters

Summary: T'Challa reacts differently to W'Kabi's questions, and to Erik Killmonger's appearence

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 **Unspoken**

T'Challa understood the pain and anger W'Kabi was almost certainly feeling… all too well. It was the same anger that had lead him to attempt to kill Bucky Barnes, that had torn the Avengers apart, and that had nearly consumed him before he made the concious choice to rise above it.

W'Kabi turned to walk away, and T'Challa knew that if he left now, with so much unknown and unspoken, something would be irreparably broken between them. The King called after his oldest friend. "W'Kabi, let me finish."

It was a tone he had practiced, but rarely used. The tone of a king who would not be ignored. W'Kabi stopped, but did not turn around, so T'Challa moved to stand in front of him. "We had Klaue in our custody, until his associates blew up the police station and helped him escape. One of them had links to Wakanda."

W'Kabi visibly recoiled at the thought that a Wakandan could have helped Klaue, and worse, that he, charged with the protection of Wakanda's borders, had not known about it. T'Challa held up a hand to stop him from saying anything. "I do not know if he was Wakandan himself, but he wore a ring on a chain, a ring like my grandfathers."

W'Kabi could be short-sighted, but he was not stupid. "Your uncle was killed on a war-dog mission. An associate who took it as a memento, perhaps?"

T'Challa made an unknowing gesture with his hands. "A very young one, if so. I am still investigating the matter. I do not intend for Klaue to remain free, but I cannot act rashly and risk him continuing to slip away because I did not know crucial information."

W'Kabi scowled, but eventually nodded. "I do not like it, but I accept your reasoning, and apologise for my earlier words. I will strengthen the watch on our borders."

T'Challa relaxed minutely. "This was planned, well in advance, and I wonder if the vibranium sale was even the true goal. I need time and information, my friend."

W'Kabi nodded again, saluted, and left.

* * *

When W'Kabi entered the throne room, Erik Killmonger in tow, the pieces started falling into place.

Zuri's confession about his uncle's death and the cousin T'Challa had never known. Klaue's rescue and subsequent murder. Erik setting himself up as the Wakandan-born outsider who succeeded where T'Challa had failed. A trained warrior with royal blood, eligible to challange for the throne.

Those facts, T'Challa knew. Erik's nature, what he would do should the Wakandan throne fall into his hands… that, T'Challa did not know, but he doubted that it would end well. Yet his cousin stood, arrogant and rude, every word showing him to be a man who believed himself entitled, unwilling to compromise, clinging to past offences and convinced that only he could show Wakanda the true way of doing things.

That Erik had reason to be angry - at his father's death, and the racism and injustice in the rest of the world - T'Challa would not deny. But he demanded weapons, technology to be used for violence, rather than aid, based on his vision of the world and what he thought must be done.

An attitude far too close to that of the colonisers he so despised, for T'Challa to consider compromising on anything Killmonger wanted.

Erik smirked. "Ask me who I am. I am N'Jakara, son of N'Jobu."

T'Challa raised a hand to halt his mother before she could leap to her feet. "You are the son of the man who aided Klaue in his attack, and the man who rescued him again when I sought to bring him here to face justice. You come to demand weapons and war, the means to conquer the world. You disregard our traditions as primitive and savage, like the very colonisers who pillaged our continent."

Erik's calm, amused demeanour fell away, his face twisting in rage and hatred. "You wanna-"

T'Challa cut him off. His father's actions had been wrong, and revealing them would be painful, but it was a wound that needed to be lanced before it could heal. "I want the events leading to my uncles death, events I only learned of today, to have not happened. I want a world where Wakanda can help other nations without risking attack from men like Klaue. But I am not going to yield to your demands based on an unchangeable past."

T'Challa pretended calm, but he was tense, ready for an attack. Calling Erik a coloniser had been deliberate, to crack the facade and make the councillors who seemed receptive to his honeyed words think twice. T'Challa was a warrior, but he had also been trained for the throne, which meant political games that used words, rather than actions.

T'Challa's next move would determine if Erik could remain in Wakanda, hopefully to be a part of T'Challa's planned efforts for Wakanda to rejoin the world peacefully, or if he was too dangerous. "Do you have any plans to help our international kin that do not involve mass murder and destruction? I will listen, but I tell you now that Wakanda will not become a colonising power while I live."

Erik snarled and lunged at him, his self-control gone. The Dora Milaje leaped into action, and W'Kabi tackled Erik to the ground, pinning him beneath his greater bulk as T'Challa's Black Panther suit formed around him.

T'Challa felt relief flow through him, though he was careful not to let it show. He knew that if the desire for revenge had outweighed reason in even one of his advisors, the outcome of Erik's arrival could have gone very differently.


End file.
